


Don't Take That Sinner From Me

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beast!Matt Murdock, Comics based, Demonic Possession, Fix-It, Frank Castle needs a hug, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pining, shadowland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: Logan snorts and shakes his head. “Thought so. You’ve had the drop on him twice now and you’ve let him get away.” He taps the cigar’s ash onto the table with a heavy sigh. “That’s why I’m offerin’, bub. He ain’t yours anymore, Castle. That thing in that stupid mask? That ain’t Murdock anymore. Your man’s long gone and what’s left needs puttin’ down.”A Shadowland alternate ending.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37
Collections: DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange





	Don't Take That Sinner From Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Red_Dbl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dbl/gifts).



> For the wonderful [Red_Dbl!](https://reddbl.tumblr.com/) I chose your prompt "Wrath" after much deliberation and while I'm not sure it's what you were aiming for, I do hope you like it. I saw your gorgeous Shadowland art and it inspired me to fix the ending a bit and make it more Fratt! 
> 
> Please note, while this is certainly angst, there is a hopeful and optimistic ending. I did keep parts of the last Shadowland fight with Matt possessed by the Beast of the Hand the same, so if you need spoilers for possible triggers, please see the notes at the end. Thank you to my wonderful betas for helping me with this!

Frank’s not sure who he’s trying to fool.

No one’s even bothering to listen to him anymore when he pipes up from the back of the war room with his usual hollow suggestion to just shoot the bastard and get it over with. He’s got a reputation to uphold despite his true feelings on the subject, but no one’s falling for it at this point. Parker’s been shooting him sympathetic looks when he thinks Frank’s not looking and Frank’s not sure which he hates more – the silent treatment or the pity.

Rand and Cage argue strategy over a map of the Shadowland fortress – it’s painfully obvious neither of them have any tactical abilities, but at this point, Murdock has to know they’re coming. Magic ninjas all over the fuckin’ city means there’s very little that goes on that the Beast of the Hand doesn’t know about, but there’s no use in reminding these idiots of that.

“I’ll do it.”

Frank glances up from the bullets he’s inspecting and frowns as the Wolverine settles into the chair across the table. “What?”

Kicking his boots up on the table and making Frank scramble to move various tools out of the way, Logan makes himself comfortable and lights up a cigar. “Murdock. I’ll put him down,” he replies, squinting at the smoke he exhales and pointedly avoids looking at Frank. “We know these idiots ain’t gonna have the balls to do what needs to be done.”

“What makes you think I won’t?” Frank counters, trying to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck and the nausea that threatens to rise at the thought of losing Murdock. It _is_ what needs to be done; it’s what Murdock would want if he were in his right mind and it’s what’s best for the Kitchen.

Frank’s just not sure if he can bear seeing someone else he loves die.

Logan’s not falling for his bullshit anyway, not that he ever does. He raises an eyebrow and pulls in another drag of cigar smoke. “I’ve got eyes, bub. We all do. Ain’t gonna question your taste – as much as I’d like to – but don’t do that to yourself.”

Gritting his teeth, Frank loads the bullets into the clip and says nothing. The upkeep and maintenance of his arsenal is usually soothing, but each action reminds him of the inevitable. He’s going to lose Matt Murdock, and there’s nothing he or the Defenders or Logan or anyone can do to stop that from happening.

“Hey.” Logan’s voice cuts through the pounding of blood in Frank’s ears and he snaps his head up to glare at the mutant. “Am I gonna be able to count on you, Castle? Shit hits the fan, it comes down to the wire, where’s your head gonna be at?”

With Murdock, where it usually is these days. When it’s not with his beautiful Maria or his children, his head’s with Murdock.

Biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, Frank viciously shoves his chair back and tucks the pistol into his waistband. “Worry about your own, Logan,” he snaps. “If I get a clean shot, I’m taking it.”

“That right? Like you’ve taken the last few shots?”

Frank’s jaw snaps shut and he looks away, spitting blood onto the floor.

Logan snorts and shakes his head. “Thought so. You’ve had the drop on him twice now and you’ve let him get away.” He taps the cigar’s ash onto the table with a heavy sigh. “That’s why I’m offerin’, bub. He ain’t yours anymore, Castle. That thing in that stupid mask? That ain’t Murdock anymore. Your man’s long gone and what’s left needs puttin’ down.”

“He’s not my…” Frank objects, his throat closing up before he can finish his protest. “He was never mine. Was never gonna happen.” Murdock’s a flirt, sure, and he has to know about Frank’s attraction at the very least, but Frank’s never going to act on it. He’s long since lost his chance by now anyway, if what the others are saying is true and Murdock’s long gone, his body a soulless host for some ancient spirit.

Waving a hand dismissively, Logan swings his legs off the table and drags the cooler over. He grabs two beers, popping the caps effortlessly on one of his claws. “Honestly, I don’t really give a shit about the details, or your questionable taste in men, Castle,” he replies, his voice low as he slides a bottle over to Frank. “I care about not losin’ anyone else to this Beast. I’ll do the dirty work, but I gotta know that you’ve got my back. These other guys, they don’t have the stomach for it and we both know that.”

Frank takes a swig at the beer and grimaces. It’s strong and bitter, likely one of Logan’s Canadian ales he’s added to the camp so they wouldn’t only have Parker’s piss-water crap or Rand’s expensive fruity IPAs. He misses the rye he and Murdock shared on rare nights - though Murdock’s taste ran to Old Overholt instead of Frank’s usual Wild Turkey - misses the quirk of Murdock’s lips every time Frank showed up on his roof with a new bottle.

He sets the beer aside and picks up a KA-BAR and a whetstone.

“Castle.”

“I’ll be fine,” Frank growls, resisting the urge to bury the knife in Logan’s hand, adamantium skeleton be damned. “Jesus. Give it a rest.”

Logan doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t need to. Frank’s seen his expression before – hell, he’s _worn_ that particular expression back in Afghanistan when faced with soldiers unfit for duty. Boys that couldn’t handle war, didn’t have what it takes to survive.

Frank Castle’s never been one of those, and if he has to kill the last remaining person he loves, then so be it.

~*~*~*~

The Beast had seen them coming.

It’s not a surprise, not even close, but Frank’s a little taken aback that Murdock’s let them get into the inner sanctum of Shadowland.

Not Murdock. The Beast. Frank has to keep the two separate in his head or he’s not going to make it.

Cage is in chains, held by some sort of magic Frank can’t begin to understand. His skin might be unbreakable, but he’s held fast by the sorcerers chanting quietly from behind the safety of the throne. Sweat drips from his nose as he bellows out his rage, testing the bonds to the very limits of his strength.

Rand’s not much better off. He’s used up most of his weird energy with one powered up punch that the Beast shrugged off like it was nothing. He’s trying to reason with what’s left of Murdock, gasping and barely able to stand, held up only by a battered Logan.

Reasoning is useless, judging by the maniacal grin on Murdock’s face, something sick and twisted lurking beneath the surface of his skin. It’s not the Murdock Frank knows, it’s not _Matt_ , but Frank’s heart’s in his throat anyway as he watches from his position in the rafters with Parker.

“This isn’t you, Matt,” Rand spits out, his voice desperately loud. “C’mon, man, you know this isn’t right! I know you had good intentions, but this?! This is insane!”

The Beast within Murdock rolls his shoulders in a careless shrug. “This is how things are going to go now, Danny Boy. Get used to it,” he replies, his voice sounding _wrong_ to Frank’s ears, cold and growling, filled with a malevolence Frank never would’ve believed possible.

Frank doesn’t know what gives him away – could be the pounding heartbeat, the slight hitch in his breathing at the sound of Murdock’s voice, hell, Murdock’s likely even known where Frank’s been hiding all along. He swallows heavily as Murdock turns toward his perch, that cruel smile stretching wider as his head tilts in a painfully familiar gesture.

“Aw, Frank, so good of you to join us! Come down to the party, my friend.”

The bullet just barely grazes the horn on Murdock’s helmet and his shiteating grin falters just a little bit. Frank reloads, loud in the still silence of the fortress, and grits his teeth. Despite his inner turmoil though, his hands are steady, the sniper rifle soothing and familiar. He’s done this thousands of times before; this should be no different.

“Really, Frank?” Murdock mocks, taking a step closer, his face tilted exactly where Frank’s tucked away against the far wall. “You’re not even gonna throw in a ‘next one won’t miss’ or something equally overdone? You’re hanging out with my good pal Pete; I’d think some of his repartee would’ve rubbed off on you.”

Parker hops down and spreads his hands slowly. “He’s the one who brought guns to a ninja fight; he can say whatever he wants, in my not-so-humble opinion.”

Murdock doesn’t acknowledge him, every point of his body trained on Frank. He stalks forward, slow and leonine and filled with all the confidence Frank’s used to seeing from him. It’s hard not to shift from his position, to climb down and sway into his space. The man’s hypnotic, a tempest that Frank should run from but has never been able to.

“You gonna fire, Frank? You’ve given even Hawkeye a run for his money before, I know how fast and accurate you are,” Murdock continues, pausing just beneath where Frank’s perched. “I’ll tell you what: if you can manage to put me down before my archers can draw, they’ll let your friends go. Here, I’ll even make it easy on you.”

Slowly, Murdock removes his helmet, giving his head a little shake before letting it drop to the ground. He smiles up at Frank, that quirk of full lips and those sightless blue eyes everything Frank’s ever dreamed of. Holding his hands out to the side, he shifts his weight and gestures to his head. “See? Right between the eyes, Frank, you know how to do that. Easiest shot you’ve ever taken. You can end all this right now if you want to.”

One shot; hell, a shot Frank can make one handed and blindfolded, if only the circumstances were different.

“What’s the matter, Frank? I’m a bad guy, right? Thought life was pretty black and white for you: see bad guy, shoot bad guy, am I right?”

Frank’s lip curls in a snarl and he swings down from his perch, landing lightly on his feet and making Murdock jerk back a fraction. He feels sick, bile rising in his throat as he faces what Murdock’s become, trying to find something, _anything_ , in those eyes that tells him the man he loves is still there.

“Tick tock, time’s running out. What’s it gonna be, Frank? Me? Or them?” Murdock jerks his head over his shoulder where Frank’s allies are standing, supporting each other. “I fit your code perfectly. I’ve killed, and I’ll do it again and again if that’s what it takes.”

Behind Murdock, Logan glances up at the archers standing silently around them and gives a curt nod to Frank.

Now or never.

Frank drops his rifle and pulls his pistol out of his waistband – his well-loved Kimber, the gun that got him through hell and back. He thumbs back the safety, ignores his heart pounding in his chest, ignores everything in him that’s screaming to just grab Murdock and run. He has to do this.

His hand wavers, trembles almost imperceptibly as he puts the muzzle of the gun to Murdock’s forehead.

Nausea crests over him and the trembling in his hands increases. A memory comes, unbidden, of Murdock’s sly smile one night after asking Frank to stay, and Frank’s resolve wavers. He blinks rapidly, trying to force the tears back from his eyes. He hadn’t said yes, he’d known it was just Murdock’s way of playing their little game, but he wishes, he _wishes_ he had said yes, that he’d had Murdock even just for that one night.

“Do it, Frank,” Murdock snarls, something low and inhuman creeping into his voice. His hand snaps out and locks around Frank’s wrist and he presses his forehead harder against the Kimber’s muzzle. “C’mon.”

An animalistic cry bursts from Frank’s throat and he can’t, he _can’t_. He can’t do this again; he’s not strong enough, he’s not _good_ enough. A better man could put Matthew Murdock down and save New York, but Frank? Frank couldn’t save his wife, couldn’t save his kids, and now he can’t save the man he’s grown to love.

The Kimber slips from Frank’s nerveless grasp and clatters to the floor. He feels like his throat is closing in and there’s not enough air; he gasps for breath, his chest heaving, yet he can’t look away, those blue eyes holding him fast.

“Do it!” Murdock yells, grabbing Frank by the shoulders and shaking. “Are you really this much of a coward?” He throws his head back and laughs, something haunting and evil and Frank won’t ever be able to get the sound out of his head.

Murdock draws his arm back and lands a vicious backhanded blow across Frank’s face, splitting his lip and sending him swaying on his feet. “This was your master plan, Danny Boy? Try to bore me to death while Frank Castle can’t get it up? I had more faith in you than that.” He turns back to Frank and hauls him up with one arm, shifting his grip to Frank’s throat and squeezing. “You wanna be the cause of their death, Frank, huh? You want more people to die because you failed them? That’s all you bring, Frank: death, no matter where you go.”

“Please,” Frank gasps, instinctively grabbing at Murdock’s wrists and struggling to stay on his feet. “This ain’t you.”

“This isn’t…” Murdock’s bark of laughter is almost hysterical and he smashes his fist into Frank’s nose, sending searing pain down his spine as the long-scarred cartilage breaks on impact. “What the fuck is with you people? Where have you been the last few months? This is me, Frank; this is what you’ve always wanted me to be.”

Frank sucks in a breath and coughs on the blood filling his throat. He gags and spits, the blood glistening on Murdock’s black suit ominously. “No. Never this.” Each syllable is like glass over his abused throat, but he has to get this out or he never will. “Never wanted this. Wanted you to be happy.”

Pure rage flickers into Murdock’s face, his expression turning black. “You wanted this,” he growls, sending Frank reeling with another backhand. “I’m one bad day away from being you, remember that, Frank?” He slams his boot into Frank’s rib cage once, twice.

“The Beast is everything you wanted me to be, admit it!” Murdock throws a leg over Frank’s prone form and straddles his hips in a mockery of all the darkest desires Frank’s never let see the light of day. “Admit it!”

Frank cries out as Murdock shakes him like a rag doll, letting his head bounce off the concrete. His vision blurs, transforming Murdock’s form into a demonic shape in black and crimson. Shutting his eyes, he tries to twist away, fighting Murdock’s vice grip.

Another blow to his cheekbone sends fresh agony through him. He’s mindlessly pleading now, his hands grasping and clutching at the front of Murdock’s suit, both trying to push him away and pull him closer.

“Matt… Matt, please,” Frank gurgles, then groans as Murdock lands a vicious jab to his bruised ribs. “You’re a good man. I know you’re still in there; I know you can fight this.”

Murdock makes a wild noise and launches a flurry of blows, sending Frank’s face alight with fresh waves of pain. “There is no Matt here!” he roars, rising to his feet and dragging Frank up by his hair. “Matt Murdock is _dead_ , do you hear me?”

“Not… not dead,” Frank mumbles, fighting the blackness at the edges of his vision. “Stronger. S’why I…” He trails off, coughing hard enough that Murdock loses his grip and Frank collapses back to the floor.

He just needs to get this out, this one thing. Then he can rest.

“Matt…”

“Be quiet!” the Beast roars, hauling Frank up by the front of his ruined tac vest. “Fight me, damn you!”

Frank’s dead weight in Murdock’s grasp and it takes most of his strength to keep his head up, to look at what’s left of the man he loves in the eyes. “I… Matt,” he begins, swallowing heavily. “Matt, I love you.”

Murdock freezes and Frank wonders for a second if this is actually it, if this is his death and it’s like the pause button’s been hit on the world while Frank’s soul descends to Hell where it belongs. But no, he’s not dead, not yet, not when every breath is like fire in his chest. His head swims, dipping a bit before he manages to find the strength to pull it back up. If he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die like a soldier.

He’s on the ground again before he can even comprehend that he’s been hit, the left side of his face blooming with fresh pain.

“Shut up!” Murdock snarls, angrier than Frank’s ever seen him, and sinks his boot into Frank’s torso. “Get up! Get _up_!”

Frank can’t, he can barely get a full breath – that kick went deep. He rolls over onto his stomach, tries to get his knees under him, and coughs up more blood. “Love you, Matt,” he slurs, because now that the words are out, they’re his only weapons, they’re the only things he has left. “Never told you… should have.”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The hands that wrap themselves into the front of Frank’s shirt are shaking, the once beautiful face in front of him twisted with wrath. Frank coughs and chuckles quietly, can’t help the smile that creeps onto his damaged face. He’s free now; it doesn’t matter what the Beast is going to do to him because at least now Matt knows.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice stronger now. His hands have stopped trembling, and he brings them up to cover Murdock’s. “I love you.”

Murdock’s snarl collapses into a sob and he falls to his knees straddling Frank. He rips off one glove and he brings shaking fingers up to Frank’s battered cheek. “Frank…” he says, his voice choked, the sound ripped from his throat. “Oh, God, Frank.”

Tears flow freely down Frank’s face and Matt traces them with his fingertips. Another sob wracks Matt’s body and he bows his head, resting his forehead against Frank’s, one hand wrapping around Frank’s back to support him, the other cupping his face.

“Knew you were still there,” Frank whispers, struggling to raise his hand to run his fingers through that soft red hair. “Knew it wouldn’t beat you.”

“Frank, _God_ , what have I done?” Matt moans, then doubles over with a bellow. His face twists with rage as the Beast fights him, an internal war that Frank can’t do anything to help.

Behind them, the Hand ninjas seem confused, disorganized. Logan manages to break away and sinks his claws into an archer with a roar and that seems to be the spark that ignites the rest of the group into action.

“Matt,” Frank pants, every breath he takes setting his lungs ablaze. “Matt, you gotta fight it. Come back; come back to me, _please._ ”

Stumbling to his feet, Matt staggers, clutching his head in his hands. His jaw clenches and he lets out an inhuman scream, one that chills Frank to the bone. His head tilts off to the side and with a sudden lunge, he leaps forward.

The Kimber.

Frank realizes what Matt’s plan is almost too late. He lurches forward with a bellow of pain and fear, colliding into Matt and grabbing his wrist with the last of his strength just as Matt’s hand closes around the Kimber’s grip.

The gun goes off, deafening in Frank’s ears. Warm blood spills over his hands and the last thing Frank sees before white light washes over him is Matt’s peaceful expression.

~*~*~*~

The woman across the aisle gives Frank an odd look before his glare sends her back to her book. She’s been watching them for hours now – mostly Frank, which is the only reason why Frank hasn’t swapped buses yet. He doesn’t really care if _he’s_ recognized, as long as the man tucked into his side stays unnoticed.

Matt shifts against Frank slowly, his frown deepening as he wakes up. An hour’s sleep; not great, but not the worst either. He’d barely slept the first two weeks after the Battle for Hell’s Kitchen, even after being declared Beast-free by Rand and his spiritual advisors. He hadn’t spoken a single word, merely left the room any time Rand or Frank – once he’d healed enough to leave his bed – tried to strike up a conversation.

The decision to leave New York had been Frank’s, and he was mildly surprised Matt’d gone along with it. He’s still surprised every time he wakes up and Matt’s still with him, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Matt needs to make amends, to right the wrongs and atrocities he’s committed, he’s said. How he’s going to do that, Frank doesn’t know, but he’ll be damned if he lets him do it alone.

They don’t talk about Matt’s attempted suicide. They don’t talk about the Beast or the Hand. They don’t talk about the friends they’ve left behind.

They don’t talk about… whatever _they_ are anymore either, but that much Frank’s pretty okay with.

“How long?”

Frank goes to move his arm from around Matt’s shoulders so he can sit up, but Matt reaches up and takes his hand, securing the loose embrace. “Next stop, I think. ‘Bout twenty minutes,” he replies, adjusting his hood over his hat with his free hand. “You wanna keep going or find a place for the night?”

Matt’s face is harder to read now, with the aviators and the russet beard covering most of it, but the hint of a smile is there, some ghost of the old Matt Murdock. He rubs his thumb over the back of Frank’s hand and shrugs one shoulder. “Mountain air smells nice. Wouldn’t mind staying for a night or two.”

“Thought you wanted to get to Idaho or wherever the fuck.”

“Yeah, well, pretty sure Wyoming’s just as much middle of nowhere as Idaho.”

Frank chuckles and hugs Matt closer. He shifts to look out the window, wishing Matt could see the breathtaking palate of colour in the sunset. The scent of the mountains is hopefully just as nice, especially for a pair of city boys. “You slept through Wyoming. We’re somewhere in Montana.”

Humming softly to himself, Matt settles back against Frank’s shoulder, carefully avoiding the still bruised ribs. “I don’t agree with what you did,” he says quietly, abruptly. “But… thank you for doing it.”

Frank lets out a breath and shuts his eyes, letting his chin rest on top of Matt’s head and dropping a kiss into the auburn hair. “I was selfish, but I ain’t gonna apologize for it.”

“I’m glad you were. Not every day, but I’m getting there.”

That’s enough for Frank. He smiles, presses another kiss into Matt’s hair, and breathes him in. He’ll add it to his list of sins that he’s not bothering to atone for; he has his hands full helping Matt with his after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Possible Trigger Warnings: Matt uses Frank's gun on himself as a last ditch effort to kill The Beast, which would also kill himself. He fails at this and is healed off-scene by Danny Rand. Matt (as the Beast) also is enraged by Frank's refusal to fight and beats him fairly badly, especially when Frank confesses his love for Matt. 
> 
> As always, come yell at me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
